Unkindled
by Chaosservant
Summary: After the fading of the First Flame, Sir Aaron of Carim awakes in a land foreign to him. Now caught up in a war for survival, he must aid the Hero of Ferelden in their quest to beat back the Fifth Blight and find his missing companion.
1. Chapter 1: The Kiln

Fire and Dark. Life and Death. The endless cycle that has been in play since the time of Gwyn himself. A cycle of death and life, that had gone on for an eternity and more. It was this cycle that brought a particular Unkindled to the Kiln of the First Flame. The place where, so long ago, the Gods gained their power and began their war against the Everlasting Dragons. This Unkindled was garbed in the armor of a Cariman Knight, a set of plate and maille he earned upon his knighting. His tabard depicted the regal two-headed eagle of Carim, the Sun and Moon gripped in its talons. In his right hand, he held a simple straight sword, imbued with the power of the sun, and in his left a kite shield that bore a golden dragon rampant on a blue field. The knight had appeared at the Kiln bonfire only minutes before, having made all the last minute preparations he could. He walked up to the stone steps that led to the First Flame and hesitated only a moment before striding forth into the meadow. Blades of all types stuck from the ground like gravestones.

There, in the center of it all, was the Flame. Its once great radiance dwindling to embers. Resting in front of the fire was what looked to be an armored man. As he approached, the man stood and pulled the coiled sword from the Flame. The great being, the Soul of Cinder, surged forward, its blade coated in flame. The knight hastily brought his shield to bear, the enchantments weaved into the metal absorbing the physical blow and the heat of the blade. The first blow was followed by a flurry of metallic death, and it was all the knight could do to roll out of harm's way. He drew in a shaky breath and charged forth, bringing his blade down on the Soul with all that he could give. The being prepared a thrust and the knight turned the blade aside with his shield, before thrusting into the rib-like armor of its midsection. The being drew back and flipped away from the knight, it's blade taking the form of a scimitar. It drew back a hand before slamming it against its chest. The Soul took a sickly red tint as it was strengthened. Without further warning, it let loose a barrage of flame. Once again forcing the knight to rely on his shield. Using the shield to block, he rushed forward and slashed at the beings knees, hoping to unbalance it. It responded by backhanding him, sending him flying into the blade of a claymore. With a groan, he stood, and as quick as he could he sipped from a green flask, the liquid inside healing his injuries and easing his soreness. Suddenly, a cascade of crystal sorcery rained on his position. The deadly projectiles were only just dodged before he once again charged forward into the Soul. Quickly, he dashed behind the being and stabbed deep into its back. It fell to its knees as the last of its energy left it.

The knight pulled his blade free and began walking towards the flame, though he only made it a few feet before he heard the scraping of metal on the ground. With a start, he looked back and saw the Soul standing once more, its warped blade in hand. The Soul of Cinder plunged its blade into the earth, fire ran down its surface, and for just a moment the knight would have sworn he saw not the decrepit armor before him. Instead, he glimpsed a regal king, a three-pronged crown upon his head and a great nobility about him. The sight was gone in a flash as the being wrenched its blade out of the ground, a great ring of fire expanding outward and nearly boiling the knight in his armor. The being launched itself into the air, its blade poised to impale the knight. He dove to the side just in time and was just able to land a couple of hits before being forced back. Rolling away, he once again sipped the Estus and, feeling invigorated, ran back into the fray.

For what seemed like hours they fought, the Knight and the Lord, blades rending flesh and metal as each tried to wear down the other. In the end, the knight was battered and could hardly stand, having long ago run out of the healing powers of the Estus. The Soul was in little better shape, while it could not tire the damage it had sustained throughout the conflict had caused it to slow and its swings did not have the force they once did. In a last ditch effort to destroy the interloper, the Soul thrust forward with its blade. With the last of his strength, the knight parried the attack and charged forth, once again thrusting his blade into the shell of the Soul. The conglomeration of the past Lords gave a final, keening, wail before collapsing into dust leaving behind naught but its soul, casting an almost cheerful yellow glow. The knight stored the soul in his pouch before limping his way to the flame. As he neared he saw the glow of a summon sign. He reached down and touched the sign, calling forth the Firekeeper. His companion blurred into existence and stepped forward. She kneeled at the fire and took the small flame into her hands. The world around them grew dim, ever darkening.

"The First Flame quickly fades. Darkness will shortly settle. But one day, tiny flames will dance across the darkness. Like embers linked by lords past" she spoke, the world still dimming until the knight could not so much as see his hand in front of his face. He worried for a moment if this was the right choice if letting the Flame die was a good idea.

"Ashen One, hearest thou my voice still?" her voice pierced the inky blackness, providing him comfort and warmth. The knight walked forward to the Keeper who kneeled still next to the cold bonfire. He sank next to his dear companion and wrapped his arms around her.

"Yes, I hear you" he confirmed. His voice was raspy from disuse but nevertheless brought comfort to his companion. The Unkindled made a move to stand, but before he could rise fully he was overcome with a wave of exhaustion. He fell on his hands and knees and tried to catch his breath.

"Ashen One? What is wrong?" the urgency in her voice came as a surprise to him. The Ashen One attempted to speak, to reassure her, but he could not breathe let alone talk. He gave a single rasping breath before falling forward into the Firekeeper's lap. He forced himself to turn face up and felt his Firekeeper fumble with his helmet. She practically ripped it from his head and looked into his eyes. His right eye was a stunning blue that glowed in the unnatural darkness of the fireless kiln, but his left eye was what drew her gaze. His pupil had taken on a sinister red hue and had begun to grow, it spread until it took up the entire eye. A baleful red glow came from the socket, and the Firekeeper was shocked into silence. Then, as quickly as it had come, the red receded to its original state at his pupil.

The Ashen One's eyes slipped closed and he knew no more.

**Author's Notes: This is a story that I have been working on every once in a while over the course of the last few months. I am only now starting to get back into it, and I need to get to updating my other two stories, so I have only a small backlog of chapters. With that in mind, it is going to be quite slow going.**

**Anyway, thanks for reading, review if you'd like, and have a wonderful day!**

**General Disclaimer: I do not own Dark Souls or Dragon Age and I am not attempting to profit on either of these IP's.**


	2. Chapter 2: Awakening

The village of Lothering was dying, yet few knew it. Refugees from the southern reaches of the Bannorn were overwhelming the meager supplies of the once prosperous village, and the stories told of the ravenous hordes that came from the Korcari Wilds had caused many of the more well-off citizens to flee north in hopes of saving their own skins. The only thing that held the people of Lothering up in these dark times was faith in the Maker and His Chantry. The Revered Mother and the Templars did their absolute best to care for and protect all the children of the Maker, but even the mighty Templars could not hope to hold off the Horde if the King's Army failed at Ostagar. Word had come from camp followers and messengers that the King had yet won three victories against the Darkspawn without much in the way of casualties, and the King's army had still yet to be reinforced by the men of Highever, Amaranthine, Redcliffe, and the various Banns that had yet to gather their men. For this, there was much hope. Hope that just maybe this was no true Blight and that the refugees may yet be given back their homes.

In an ancient shrine that had sat behind the Chantry since its founding ages ago there came noise. Sister Marion had been taking a stroll through the gardens when she heard it. A scratching that reminded her of metal against stone. Her curiosity piqued, she walked into the old shrine and tried to find the source of the annoying scratching.

"There had better not be any rats here, Brother Gerald will have a fit" she spoke

absently to herself, giggling lightly at the image such things brought. "Ah! There you are" she had found the source of the noise, a door that she was certain was not there yesterday. The gate- for what else could it be?- was wrought of stone. Its edifice bare, but a small switch was present on the wall to its right. Her curiosity got the better of her, and not for a minute did she think to tell someone of her discovery. She pulled the small switch and flinched back when the gate began to descend into the stone floor. The other side of the gate was dark, unnaturally so, and she had to squint to make out even the large shape of the walls as they sloped down. It was then that she saw two pinpricks of light. Two glowing blue orbs floated about six and a half feet off the ground. As her eyes adjusted she saw a figure clad in armor. At his side, she saw a sheathed blade and it reached out to her. As his hand broke the threshold, Marion let out a panicked cry and bolted out of the shrine, crying all the while. The figure let his hand fall to his side and let out a sigh.

The Ashen One stepped through the threshold of his prison and sighed yet again. He had awoken on the cold, hard ground of the shrine's antechamber and had almost panicked as the absence of the Firekeeper became known. However, he had forced himself to remain calm. He knew he had to keep a clear mind, now more than ever. He would find the Firekeeper, Gwyn help him if he failed. The Ashen One walked out of the shrine just in time to be confronted by three men in heavy plate, a burning sword emblazoned upon their tabards.

"Halt, who are you and what business do you have at this Chantry?" the man in the front demanded. He appeared to be the leader of these knights.

"I am Sir Aaron, a Knight of Carim. I awoke in an antechamber of this shrine" the Ashen One replied, his voice surprisingly smooth for one such as he.

"What? And how did you get there? I do not have time for games," it was clear that the knight did not believe what he had said. He would have to come up with a reason other than death, for there was no mistaking the feeling he had felt as he passed out in the Firekeepers lap. He had died once again, so soon after completing his quest.

"I know not, the last thing I remember was engaging in combat with a group of brigands. They thought me dead and dragged my body into the chamber, I believe they said they would come back for my armor and weapons when night had fallen," the lie came naturally and convincingly, despite the unlikely thrift of the imaginary brutes.

The knight hummed, and Aaron was sure that he did not truly buy his lies. With a sigh, the knight spoke again, "Just get out of the Chantry Gardens, I cannot have you scaring the refugees or the Lay Sisters for that matter."

"Ah, yes, is the young woman from before alright? I did not mean to frighten her, but I was quite disoriented at the time," he spoke with sincerity, he truly had not meant to frighten her.

The knight's face softened somewhat and he said, "Yes, well that I will believe. Sister Marion is fine, it was quite a shock to find you, I'd say."

"Good, I should apologize, I think. Could you please point me in her direction?" The Ashen One inquired.

"She is inside, praying at the altar. If you are going inside, please, take off your helmet. You look far too intimidating as you are," the man all but ordered. Aaron obliged, his Cariman Basinet helm was pulled off to reveal the, apparently, young man beneath. His dark, shaggy hair fell messily about his face which was laid bare before the Templar. His appearance would not look out of place on a man just into his twenties, and indeed he had only been twenty-three at the time of his first death. However, his eyes told a far different story. They spoke of an ancient wisdom, and Ser Bryant had to stop himself from attempting to Smite the man where he stood. His eyes reminded him far too much of a possessed mage, the same feeling of ancient power was behind those eyes, yet he felt not the dark, foreboding malice that came with all demonic possessions.

"Thank you, you may go in, but please do not disturb the refugees and villagers. They have enough problems without having to worry about heavily armed brigands," Ser Bryant was doing what he could for the people here, and could ill afford brigands in the village itself.

"Of course, Ser. I will likely take my leave of the village before nightfall," Aaron then entered the door pointed out to him and came into a small chapel. It reminded him greatly of the churches of his homeland Carim. Though instead of Gwyn, Gwyndolin, and Gwynevere this church seemed to be devoted to a woman by the name of Andraste and the 'Maker'. In any case, he moved through the throngs of desperate refugees and came to the woman he frightened in the shrine. She looked to be a young lass, maybe around his physical age, and had her blonde hair done up in a bun. All told she was a rather fetching woman. Aaron cleared his throat and spoke, "Hail Milady, I am Sir Aaron of Carim, and I have come to apologize for frightening you. I was rather delirious, please forgive me." With that he kneeled before her, head bowed and right arm across his chest.

"Oh! Please, Ser, do not kneel. It is I who should apologize. I overreacted," Sister Marion appeared thoroughly embarrassed by her reaction to him. Though this did confuse the Cariman Knight, as he could imagine he made for a terrible sight in the dark of the shrine. Still, he rose from his position of supplication and gently took her hand, raising her knuckles to his lips and lightly kissing them.

"No, I can imagine how terrifying a sight I would have made. Now then, I must be on my way. I should be on my way out of the village by the end of the da-" he was cut off a feeling of pure dread. There was a darkness in the air. The room seemed to get colder, but he seemed to be the only one to notice. He could feel a presence, no... multiple presences, making their way towards the town. This feeling, one of dread and hunger, could have only come from one thing. Darkwraiths. They were here and they were advancing on the village.

"Ser? What's wrong?" came the concerned voice of the Sister. She looked ready to continue speaking but before she could he had jerked his head back up and shouted an order to Ser Bryant.

"You! Gather your men, the enemy is here!" with that the Knight all but threw his helmet on his head and rushed out the door. Ser Bryant looked astonished before motioning for Ser's Andrew and Geoffrey to follow him.


	3. Chapter 3: Close Encounters

Aaron ran as fast as his legs could carry him. His hand ready to pull his Sunlight Straight Sword from its scabbard. He had already strapped his Dragon Crest Shield to his left arm. He heard the Templars shout after him as he ran. He supposed they could not feel the Darkwraiths as he could, which would make a bit of sense but was still worrying. Finally, he crested a hill to the south of the village and saw them. He jerked to a stop in surprise. What he thought were Darkwraiths were not, but what he saw nevertheless had him pull his blade. A small party of seven… beasts… were chasing a woman across the field that led from the woods. They wore patchwork armor and carried jagged, rusty blades. The last one to break from the woods carried a bow. It notched an arrow and loosed it. The jagged arrow flew true and impacted in the woman's shoulder. She fell to the ground with a heart-wrenching cry while the others barreled down on her. Aaron had been running as he saw this, and he was able to throw himself in front of her, shield raised, as the first… thing slashed with its blade. The blade bounced off of the enchanted steel and he retaliated by plunging his sword into a gap in the beast's armor. The blade met little resistance and the thing gave a gurgle before falling over dead.

Meanwhile, Ser Bryant and his men had caught up. With a shout of "Darkspawn!" Ser Bryant charged, blade poised to hack off limbs. With a mighty swing, Ser Bryant relieved one Hurlock of its head and smashed another with the pommel of his blade. It doubled over and was finished off by Ser Andrew. Ser Geoffrey raised his Warhammer to smash the helmeted head of another Hurlock but was intercepted by its comrade whose own hammer smashed into his side. His armor crumbled under the force of the blow and he was knocked on his back. The first Spawn ripped his helmet off and tore into Geoffrey's throat. His screams were cut off immediately and his movements stilled. Seeing this, Andrew ran and cut deep into the hammer wielders side. It screeched and fell, spasming and the other soon followed as Bryant drove his blade between its shoulders. The last blade wielder rushed Aaron with reckless abandon and its clumsy swing was parried. With a grunt, Aaron stabbed into its abdomen then smacked it off of his blade. The last Spawn tried to loose more arrows, but they were blocked by shield and armor. Bryant was the one to finish the skirmish, hacking off the last blighters' arms and following it up with a decapitation.

Ser Andrew rushed to Ser Geoffrey's body, maybe hoping he could be saved, only to stop and shake his head. He let out a choked sob before picking up his Warhammer and smashing in the still writhing spawn's skull. He kept at it until there was naught but a blackened paste where the thing's head once was. Ser Bryant pulled him aside and appeared to be attempting to calm the younger man. Meanwhile, Aaron had turned and went to the fallen women, thankfully she was still alive but was only just holding on.

"Best to put her out of her misery now. Darkspawn poison their arrows and we have no antidote on hand. She will not make it to the village. Make it quick," Ser Bryant's voice was solemn. The tone spoke of personal experience, and the way he looked away from the woman made it clear he had been in a similar situation. Aaron just shook his head and reached into his knapsack. Bryant looked on bemused as he pulled a small talisman made of pure white hair out of the sack. Aaron then recited one of the stories of the Gods, the words spoke of great healing miracles and as he said the words he reached deep within himself and brought forth his power. Suddenly, a golden circle of light spread forth around him, invigorating all present and healing the jagged wound that had been left behind by the arrow. The poison that had coursed through her body was destroyed and color returned to her face. Aaron noted absently that her ears were tapered to a point. As the glow faded and the woman fell into sleep Aaron felt a blade press against his neck and a strange feeling came over him for a moment before disappearing.

"Apostate!" came the cry of Ser Andrew. "Do not move, Maleficar!"

"What? What in Gwyn's name are you doing man! We need to get back to the village!" Aaron's voice was confused and angry. He had just helped them and this woman, and now they were trying to kill him. It made no sense.

"Andrew, stay your blade. He is right, we need to get back to the village first and foremost," Ser Bryant was dumbfounded, he had attempted to Smite Aaron but it had just washed over him. It was a similar effect to what would happen if he tried to Smite a random farmer. Yet he had blatantly used a healing spell, though not one he had ever seen.

Ser Andrew begrudgingly sheathed his blade before making for Geoffrey's body. With a shake of his head, Aaron picked up the unconscious woman in a bridal carry before making for the village. The Templars were left behind to prepare Ser Geoffrey's body for transport to the Chantry. As he moved back along the trail to Lothering, Aaron spied a caravan moving south towards the entrance to the Imperial Highway. When the caravan neared he saw a tall man at the head of the column call it to a halt. The man and three others garbed in silver mail, with tabards barring Griffons approached.

"Hail!" the head man called. "Do you require aid?" the man, a tanned and weathered veteran by his looks, inquired. While he seemed sincere, the men felt… off. They felt very much like those beasts he had fought, and this put him in a very tricky position.

"Nay, there was an attack, Darkspawn. I was with a group of Templars, they lost one of their own and are preparing to move his body. I am sure they could use some assistance, I can handle the lady myself" Aaron was wary of these people. All but a haunted-looking young woman in the back of the caravan bore the taint he could feel. As he gazed at the woman, she was about the same size as the woman in his arms and she had similarly tapered ears, he could feel the eyes of the caravaneers harden on him.

"Very well, but I shall send my second, Raynauld, with you. As a precaution" the tanned man ordered. He was skeptical of his claims. This fact rankled Aaron, he was a Knight of Carim! He had taken vows of honor in service to his Maiden. He was not some common brigand or Sellsword, out to rape and plunder!

"I can assure you that I can handle myself" he bit out, "but I shall welcome the company nonetheless"

"Good, Raynauld, make certain they make it into town", the leader spoke once more and Raynauld snapped to attention before replying.

"As you command, Duncan" the rather lanky and dour man then came up alongside Aaron and gestured in the direction of the Village. "Lead on, Ser"


	4. Chapter 4: Distractions

With a nod Aaron set out once more, the woman in his arms hardly affecting his stride. It did not take them long to pass by the palisade that led into the village. Once they crossed the boundary they were set upon by children of every size. They shouted excitedly, calling out "A Grey Warden!" and "Do you have a Griffon?" They had all grown up with stories of the Grey Wardens, ancient heroes who slew Darkspawn and rode upon mythical Griffons. The excitement was not limited to the children. Many of the adults saw the man and were shocked and giddy in equal measure. Others, however, saw the Warden for what he was, an Omen of Doom. The Wardens of the Grey were only called upon in times of Blight and if they were here now then the situation to their south was much worse than they had believed.

Aaron was sure that the Grey Wardens were some Knightly Order. Likely similar to the Brotherhood of St. Lloyd or the Blades of the Darkmoon. It took quite a bit of time to navigate through the throng of villagers and back to the Chantry, and only when they finally opened the doors to the Chantry did he let himself relax. There was something about this building that eased the load on his soul.

Aaron went straight to the only person he knew within the Chantry, Sister Marion. He approached the Lay-Sister and asked "Milady, is there any place this young woman could rest? She has been through quite an ordeal."

The Lay Sister flinched slightly before turning and regarding the Knight and his charge. "Oh! Ser Aaron! Yes, come with me, I will take you to the Sister's Quarters," she turned and led the Knight out the back door of the Chantry and to an outbuilding just aside the Shrine where he awoke. They passed the threshold into a small room that smelled of incense. They were in a small sitting room that was currently occupied by a group of Lay Sisters huddled around one of the low tables. When they saw them enter the young women stopped whatever gossip they were doing to stare after them as they walked through the room to the rear of the building. They went through one of the three doors to the rear of the room. The door opened up into a barrack of sorts. Beds lined the room and it was to one of these beds he brought the young woman in his arms.

"The Miracle did its work. She will need rest, but is otherwise fine." The Cariman Knight informed the Ley Sister.

"I will ensure she gets it. You have my word," with that she turned and left the room, likely to inform her superiors of the situation. After ensuring his charge would be well looked after, Aaron left the room flanked by Raynauld. As they returned to the village center, Aaron turned and spoke to his shadow.

"Well, now that you have seen my intentions were honorable what shall you do?" inquired the Cariman.

The man narrowed his eyes slightly before replying: "I shall be returning to my commander and we will resume our course to Ostagar."

"Ostagar? What is that?"

Raynauld's eyebrows crept up in surprise before replying "You do not know of Ostagar? With recent events being what they are I doubt even the most isolated Serf has not heard of that place. In any case, it is an old Tevinter fortress to the south. The King is using it as a fortification against the Darkspawn incursions from the Korcari Wilds.".

"I see. Tell me, these Darkspawn, where do they come from?" Aaron inquired. The similarities in the presence of the Spawn and the Darkwraiths was worrying, to say the least. Raynaud looked at him strangely before replying.

"The Darkspawn come from the Deep Roads, the underground tunnels of the old Dwarven Empire. As to their origins, none can say. The Chantry teaches us that Tevinter Magisters forced their way into the Golden City and were cast down by the Maker. It is thought these Magisters were the first Darkspawn who brought about the First Blight. Though this is largely thought to be an allegory, it is also the only real explanation we have" he explained.

"I suppose that is as good an explanation as anything" Aaron mused. The Chantry's idea on the origin of the Darkspawn was at least passingly similar to the origins of the Darkwraiths of New Londo. Once more the arrogance of men has brought doom upon the world, though these Darkspawn did not seem particularly dangerous on their own.

The two Knights fell into an awkward silence as they awaited the arrival of Ser Bryant and the other Wardens. It took only a few minutes for the Templars and Wardens to arrive, Ser Geoffery's body was carried on a makeshift stretcher by his comrades. The solemn procession made its way past the two, heading to the Chantry. The haunted young woman and Duncan broke off from the group, the woman wandered off to the Chantry wall and sat down, while Duncan approached the two.

"I trust the young woman was safely escorted to the Chantry?" Duncan questioned. His weathered eyes still regarded Aaron with mistrust, though somewhat lesser.

"Indeed, she is resting currently. My miracles are potent, but they can be draining for the unprepared," he replied. These Wardens were still a potential threat, the taint running through them made sure of that.

"Miracles? You claim to act on behalf of the Maker?" Duncan's voice was slightly incredulous as he asked the question.

"What? Of course not. Miracles are simply spells powered by one's faith. I would never presume such a thing," he clarified. Aaron was not nearly so arrogant to believe he had the patronage of a God.

"Ah, so you are a mage then? Strange to see one who uses martial skill as well as spell power."

"I would not call myself a Mage, no. Knights of Carim are mandated to learn certain Miracles to better serve their Maiden, though I have picked up quite the collection of spells over the years." It was something of a point of pride to the knight that he had been able to learn all of what his tutors could teach him, both at the Shrine and in Carim. Still, though, he would never consider himself a true mage the likes of Big Hat Logan or the lovely Karla.

"All knights of Carim are mandated to learn magic? But how?" Raynauld seemed both surprised, fearful, and very interested in that and, though his composure was much greater, even Duncan seemed concerned about it.

"It does not take much to learn at least some basic Miracles. They are powered by one's faith, Sorceries are much more involved but almost anyone could learn some of the basic offensive spells, and Pyromancies can be learned by just about anyone, though certain hybrid spells can be troublesome to learn. I am surprised that you would not know this, as far as I knew such spells have been ubiquitous for centuries at least," Aaron explained.

"The magics of Thedas are mostly hereditary. As far as I have ever heard, magic cannot simply be taught. It is simply shocking to think that there are entire other areas of magic that can be freely taught."

"That is… interesting, to say the least. Though I have not the slightest idea as to why such a difference could come about. I was never the most interested in the theory behind the magic. That was always the purview of the Vinheim scholars and their ilk. But enough about such things, as much as I would wish to continue this discussion, I must procure supplies for my journey," Aaron attempted to excuse himself.

"If I might ask, where are you planning on going? You seem to be an able warrior, we could use someone of your skill in the fight against the Blight."

"I have been separated from my companion, I will be setting out to find some hint of her whereabouts as soon as I can. I awoke here only hours ago with no thought as to how I came to be here,"

"Interesting. Well, if you change your mind we shall be here for some hours yet to restock our supplies," Duncan offered. He was intrigued as to the potential for the young knight, but he would not press too much. He was only one man, after all.

"I will keep that in mind," was his reply before he turned and walked to the market that dominated the center of town. He needed to restock his supply of mosses and alchemical reagents. He went to three different market stalls that sold alchemy supplies and he was indeed able to restock his stores for the making of powders, but despite his persistence, he could not for the life of him find any color of moss, other than benign green moss. He had just about given up when the haunted elf girl came up to him.

"You'll never find those mosses you are looking for in a Shem marketplace, you know? Only the elves have knowledge of the sacred mosses," she explained.

"Is that so, in my homeland such mosses are commonplace."

"Be that as it may, it is not the same in Thedas. The closest place you may find such things would probably be the Highever alienage. I was told by my... my betrothed that they grew plentifully," she seemed regretful when mentioning her potential husband. He could tell right away that his fate was likely not a kind one.

"Hm, a shame, I suppose my current stock will have to do. Where are my manners, I am Sir Aaron of Carim, Knight-Protector of Maiden Alandra, the Last Firekeeper," he introduced himself using his full title. It was not necessary but perhaps it would draw her thoughts away from such dark memories.

"That is quite the lofty-sounding title you have there, I am Eliana Tabris, Maiden of the Great Denerim Bookstore," she replied, amusement clear in her voice.

"Well met, great lady. Would your Highness like to join me for a drink? I have not been to the local tavern, but I am sure it will befit a refined pallet such as yours."

"I would be honored, oh great and noble knight."

They found their way into the tavern quickly enough and the barkeep was all too happy to take his old coins in exchange for some of his finest drink. They stayed there until the sun was starting to dip out of its apex when a Warden messenger collected the young elf-maid. They exchanged farewells and promises for more drinks when next they met. By the end of the fourth hour of the afternoon, the caravan had disappeared into the distance along the Imperial Highway, onward to their final destination.

When they had disappeared into the distance Aaron returned to the Chantry to check on his charge. The elf maid's name was Lelandra, and she had been traveling with her family to Highever when they were attacked by Darkspawn. She was cut off from them and chased into the woods. Thankfully for all involved her family was able to fight off the Spawn with minimal casualties and were able to make it to Lothering at noontime. Once again he said his goodbyes to an elven woman and was awarded twenty silvers for her rescue. When they had taken rooms at the tavern he decided to ask around about the Firekeeper. He was able to gather some bare descriptions of a woman in the Firekeeper's garb who had passed through town almost two months ago before she headed South into the Wilds. With new determination, he set out onto the Imperial Highway southward.


End file.
